


30 Kisses Grab Bag

by fall_into_life



Category: Glee, Persona 3, Skins (UK)
Genre: 30 Kisses, Canonical Character Death, Chapter 21 Has Trigger Warnings Please Read Notes, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 8,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fall_into_life/pseuds/fall_into_life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the 30_kisses comm on LJ. A variety of pieces from different fandoms.</p><p>Glee: 1-5, 7-13, 16. Skins: 6, 14, 15. Persona 3: 17-21.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. look over here

**Author's Note:**

> Brittana; PG-13 for language

The rolling hills of nowhere, Ohio aren’t much more interesting than the other people on the bus, but they make her want to stab her eyes out less. At least the hills don’t ramble until her ears bleed, or steal her girlfriend away for “choreography planning”. As if they could really plan choreo on a moving bus.

She’s not even really looking at the landscape. Someone online just released a whole bunch of remixes of Adele’s 21 album, and Santana has been listening to them on her ipod the entire trip. She figures she’ll just one-star the terrible ones and leave the rest for when she and Britt-

Speaking of Britt, what _the hell_.

Right in front of her stirring view has fallen a curtain of blonde hair, and Santana’s eyes follow it up to where Britt’s face is leaning in sideways through the top section of the window. Santana stares for a few seconds before looking to her left, where Britt’s legs are in the seat next to her, and the rest of her body is hanging out of the window.

“Britt, what the fuck, get back in the fucking-” Santana freaks, standing up and reaching for Britt to pull her bodily back in.

“Kiss me first,” Britt grins, swatting at Santana’s hands (and how the fuck she even has a free hand to swat her with Santana does _not even know_ ).

“Britt,” Santana reaches again, and gets deflected again (and of course the fucking bus driver doesn’t care; normally Rachel would be backing her up about _safety_ and _rules_ but Rachel can’t pull herself off of Finn’s dick long enough to do anything useful nowadays). “Britt, get back in the bus.”

“Kiss me,” Britt insists, and Santana bites the inside of her cheek.

“Fine,” Santana sulks for a second before leaning in and pressing her lips to Britt’s. She means it to be a half-second thing before she forces Britt back into the fucking bus, but she melts when their lips touch (she always does).

After way too long for Brittany to be hanging out of the bus, Britt pulls back and squirms her way back into her seat. Santana breathes a sigh of relief, and when Britt slides into the seat next to her, Santana is stuck between ranting at Britt about how scared she was (which would be partially a lie; you can’t watch someone do lifts every day that are illegal in some states without believing in their ability to know their own strength) or kissing her again.

Britt decides for her, and they spend the rest of the trip making out in the back of the bus.

It’s way more interesting than the rolling hills of Ohio.


	2. news; letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finchel; PG-13 for language

“Oh, hey, look Rach,” Finn lumbers into their living room, dropping down onto the couch and throwing an arm around Rachel.

Rachel keeps her eyes on the television (the director’s cut of Sweeny Todd; some of the deleted scenes have completely changed the way she views the movie adaptation), but acknowledges him with a soft, “hmmm?”

“It’s a postcard from Puck,” Finn says excitedly, holding the postcard in front of her so she can see. “We finally got one!”

Rachel smiles and cuddles into his side, her eyes reading the postcard as Finn reads it to her.

_all my groupie bitches say wassup. kiss ~~my~~ our jew for me. later_

PUCKZILLA

Finn tilts his head at the card, then laughs. “I can’t believe he made that his stage name.”

“Well, considering the band name is Tight Cars, Loose Women, it’s certainly… thematically appropriate,” Rachel says charitably, remembering the day Puck told them he would be going on tour with the then newly-formed band.

Finn laughs again and kisses the top of Rachel’s head. “That one’s for Puck.”

“Finn Hudson,” Rachel huffs, moving out from under his arm and pretending to be affronted. “That is hardly the kind of kiss Noah “Sex Shark” Puckerman meant.”

Finn, unsure if she’s actually mad or not, shuffles his feet and waits for her to go on.

“Therefore, I demand we relocate to the bedroom for a do-over,” Rachel continues without breaking character, standing up and doing a fantastic imitation of her old storm-outs into their bedroom.

When Finn joins her, they both giggle into a “Puck appropriate” kiss before doing other things Puck would no doubt have approved of.


	3. jolt!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quinntana; PG-13 for language

They’re on the floor.

Santana doesn’t even remember why or how anymore, but somehow fighting became fucking and fucking became nails and teeth on skin which became slightly less aggressive making out.

She’s not really worried about what Britt will think (god knows Britt has told her a million times how hot it would be if they could finally talk Quinn into bed), or that Quinn is seeing someone (because fidelity has never been a thing for Quinn, on either the giving or receiving end), or even what other people will think if they find out (because seriously, fuck everyone else).

She’s more worried about breaking this fragile thing called her and Quinn’s friendship (and if that’s not some personal growth, Santana Lopez being more worried about a friendship than getting off, then she doesn’t know what is).

It’s easy not to think about it as long as they keep kissing, so she doesn’t, and they do, until her window paints shadows across their bodies and Santana’s phone buzzes somewhere against her back.

She jumps and scrambles for it (how the fuck did she not notice they were having sex on/near her phone?) and because it’s Brittany’s ringtone, she answers it without thinking.

“Um, hi.” Santana answers, her eyes locking with Quinn’s.

“Hey, San. Are we still doing that Unholy Trinity movie night? Because I’ve been calling Quinn’s phone for like an hour and she’s not picking up,” Santana flushes and Quinn facepalms, but neither of them make a move to separate.

“She’s here,” Santana says. Her eyes are still locked with Quinn’s, and she doesn’t want to say anything else because Britt knows her and-

“She’s not wearing pants, is she?” Britt asks with a giggle, and Quinn’s eyes widen.

Santana makes a split-second decision and smirks instead of denying it, telling Britt, “nope. No pants, or any other clothing.”

Quinn stops breathing and stares at her, and Santana goes on, “and you know that tattoo she got last year? Totally fake. Oh, and she’s got this birthmark right on her-“

Quinn lunges for her phone, but Santana moves back to keep it out of reach, continuing to dish every detail she can remember to Britt as she struggles to keep the line open for as long as possible.

There’s probably some thinking she’ll need to do later, and some talking that the three of them will have to do after that, but for now, there’s for Quinn, naked on her bedroom floor, and Britt, giggling on the other end as she jogs the block it’ll take her to get there from her house.


	4. our distance and that person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quinntana; PG-13 for language

Santana’s been fighting it. She really fucking has, okay?

But the thing is, Quinn’s here, and Britt isn’t.

She doesn’t know what kind of school would elect someone class president and then swear they don’t have the grades to graduate (like, who the fuck did they _think_ would be speaking at graduation?), even though Britt understands high school math and science like they were teaching her in the womb, and she’s fucking fluent in Spanish.

Really, she blames teachers like Schuester, who never bothered to see if maybe there was a brain underneath all the “airhead blonde” stuff Brittany says - but that’s a whole different subject, one she doesn’t have the energy for right now.

They tried (they tried really fucking hard, with Santana’s father footing the bill for flights back to Lima every weekend she had free), but in the end, it’s not working. She can’t look at Britt’s blurry face over Skype, and then Quinn’s crystal-clear face over a cup of coffee, not without trying to force herself to remember why she loves one and not the other.

Getting out of Lima has changed Quinn. These months of college have been good for her, now that’s she’s finally admitted that it’s pretty fucking gay to have way more chemistry with her “rival” than she’s ever had with any of the boys she dated. She even had a girlfriend, for about a month of Santana teasing her mercilessly. Then one day, she had announced that she had broken up with Anna, and when Santana asked, Quinn stared her down until Santana was forced to admit that no, these feelings weren’t one-sided, and no, they weren’t going to be able to date other people.

Brittany knew the second Santana tried to tell her. “It’s okay, San,” she had said softly, and smiled sadly before cutting off Skype and refusing to take any of Santana’s phone calls.

And now, Santana’s standing at Quinn’s door, trying to say or do something, anything, so Quinn will notice her and look up from the book Santana knows she’s absorbed in. Instead, she’s stuck standing there, her voice only a figment of her imagination as she watches Quinn’s chest rise and fall, her face hidden behind a book.

Quinn’s wearing skinny jeans (“New state, new look,” she’d remarked dryly when Santana had gaped, and proceeded to carefully lace her low-top charcoal grey flat tops) and a top that Santana knows would let her look straight down it from the right angle (pregnancy hadn’t done a thing to the view, either, not that Quinn was much for showing it off or Santana was often willing to go to the lengths she’d need to in order to perv properly). Her shoes are lined up neatly just underneath her bed (under sheets they’d picked out together, when Santana had declared the plain white ones unfit; Quinn had disapproved of the blood red Santana had liked, and Santana had vetoed any color that would be found in a flower garden, so they had compromised on sky blue), Quinn herself in bare feet with her Cheerios letterman thrown casually over a chair in the corner (even that has memories; they’d found it at an IKEA and Santana had stealth-bought it for Quinn after Quinn had passed it over because of the price tag).

“I-” Santana croaks, finally.

Quinn glances up. She takes a single look at the tears brimming in Santana’s eyes, and her shaking hands, and drops her book on the night stand without even marking her place (which is how Santana knows Quinn realizes this is serious; bitch is obsessive about bookmarks). She licks her lips, takes a deep breath, and motions to the bed next to her.

Santana sits down heavily, her hip just barely not touching Quinn’s. They stay like that, breathing together without a word or a touch, before Santana bursts into actual tears, and Quinn wraps her arms around Santana, pulling her close.

She cries for what feels like hours, burying her face in Quinn’s shirt and clinging to her, until she just feels dried out and exhausted.

“You’re always going to love her.” Quinn’s voice is low like she’s been crying too, and the words are exactly the right thing to say.

Santana slumps, and bites her lip. “I know.”

Quinn tilts her head up, and presses their lips together once (it’s both a beginning and an end, and unlike most of the other kisses in Santana’s life definitely isn’t foreplay, because they’re both a little older and wiser than to start having sex before Santana has even changed her laptop background to something other than Britt’s face) before laying them both down on her bed.

“I wish I didn’t love you,” Santana’s voice is broken, and she doesn’t even mean to say it, but there it is, and she stiffens, waiting for Quinn to throw her out of her room, or bitch her out.

“I know,” Quinn says, stroking her hair, and from her tone Santana knows Quinn doesn’t take it personally.

They stay there, breathing and existing, pressed tight together on Quinn’s bed, until Santana drifts off into a minefield of dreams where Britt graduated with them and Quinn went to Harvard instead of following Santana to California.


	5. "hey, you know...."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brittberry/Pieberry; squeaky clean G

It’s over before Rachel knows it - one taste of watermelon chapstick and soft lips pressed to hers, a gentle hand against the side of her face to steady them both - and then she’s got an almost shy-looking Brittany Pierce standing in front of her, hands clasped in front of her skirt as she smiles.

“You were the last one on my list,” Britt tells her, and skips out of the choir room.


	6. the space between dream and reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skins fandom: Effy/whothefuckknows; R for drugs.

It’s spliff and pills and liquor and freedom but not love or responsibility or clarity (or _him_ ), and it feels like coming home or maybe like claiming an old home as a new one.

She’s whirling whirling whirling but the liquor doesn’t like that (the pills do, but the pills have better manners than the liquor) so she stops whirling but doesn’t stop dancing, because the pills may be more polite but they have demands too, and the liquor doesn’t care if she dances so she does.

Everything is _light sweat heat_ and she’s just a ribbon tied around a maypole; she flutters when she’s touched but never goes far from her anchor of the bar and the loo and the table she used to sit at back when she used to sit at tables and smoke and make eyes at boys. She used to have pretty words to make all the boys make sense in her ephemeral thoughts (and she’s back to using words like ephemeral, better chew another pill), but she only shared them when the people she was sharing with were worth it.

And now she doesn’t make eyes at boys, but boys make eyes at her and sometimes she answers their questions with her hips and her lips (rhyming doesn’t mean she needs another pill, not yet) and the space between her thighs that all the pretty club boys worship when she lets them.

Tonight’s not a night for making eyes, she thinks, but then there’s a boy with dark hair and perfect eyes and his hair falls down in just the right way and she floats to him on her breeze of MDMA and her river of whiskey and his eyes go dark with thoughts of the answers he thinks she can give him.

And it’s too much, it’s him but it’s not _him_ (never _him_ again) and she pulls away before they can leave. The hurt in his eyes is his (but also _his_ ) and she rakes her nails down the side of his neck hard enough to hurt and bruises her lipstick against his chapstick and slips away back to the house where her pillow still smells like _him_ and her sheets smell like _them_.

She doesn’t remember any of it when she wakes up, but bursts into tears all the same, and the tears drain the hurt until all she has is numbness and the pills that high Effy left for sober Effy, because high Effy knows that sober Effy isn’t ready for the world yet, if she ever was and if she ever will be again.


	7. superstar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brittana; PG-13 for language.

Santana could have had this kind of life for herself, if she’d wanted it.

She got offered a record deal back when she was fresh out of high school, and she had turned it down, laughing, because even then she had known enough law to know they had wanted her to sign her life away.

Then artists like Adele and Amy Winehouse (RIP) got popular, and yeah, okay she had regretted it a bit. She knew she had the same kind of whiskey smooth voice, and she was a fine piece of ass to top it off. She could have been filthy rich by now.

Whatever. It wasn’t like she wasn’t married to the hottest woman in the music industry, and totally reaping the benefits anyway. Huge house, parties that would have made even her high school self drool, and-

“Hey, honey,” Brittany murmured into her ear, molding her body around Santana’s where she sat on a stool at their breakfast bar. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Just thinking about how completely fucking hot my wife is,” Santana bantered back, reaching behind her to run a hand through Brittany’s hair. “Have you seen her? Because I wants to get my shower sex on.”

Brittany giggled and pulled Santana’s other hand off of her coffee and onto Brittany’s very naked hip. “Mm, I’m pretty sure you’ll find her around here somewhere.”

“Good,” Santana purred, turning to kiss Brittany.

To her surprise, all she got was one kiss before Britt slipped away and into the bathroom with a wink, calling back, “if you don’t hurry up, I’m locking the door!”

Coffee forgotten, Santana raced into the bathroom, pulling off her clothes and leaving them wherever they fell.


	8. our own world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brittana; a shockingly clean G

It shouldn’t be as simple as Britt pulling the blanket over both their heads, but it is. She does, and pulls Santana closer by her hip.

The touch is so light Santana could be imagining it. Her mind doesn’t know whether it’s really happening, but her body always knows, moving her closer and into Britt’s arms.

Britt smiles, and a smile appears on Santana’s face by reflex, and no, it’s not as simple as Britt pulling the blanket over their heads and smiling, but right now it is that simple, and she’s happy.

Their lips press together softly, and Santana relaxes in the warmth and isolation and Britt’s body against hers. Tomorrow she’ll have to put back on her armor and re-coat her acid tongue, but tonight she’s happy, in her and Britt’s own little world.


	9. dash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quitt; another Disney-safe G-rating

They’re walking out of the gym and to their cars, when it starts raining. It isn’t a warning drizzle and it wasn’t terribly overcast when they first walked out- just a short rumble overhead and then it’s pouring.

Quinn’s first reaction is to go back into the gym to wait it out, but Brittany squeals excitedly and grabs her hand, running out into the parking lot.

Quinn stumbles at first but catches herself, unable to resist Britt’s infectious enthusiasm. They run at full speed through the parking lot (whoever put the student parking lot and the gym on opposite sides of the campus clearly did so before Sue Sylvester had a say in it), Britt hitting every single puddle she sees on the way there.

It’s a warm rain, and it soaks through their clothes, warming Quinn to the bone. She starts to laugh along with Britt, clutching her Cheerios duffle for dear life and following along to Britt’s car.

Britt fumbles with her keys when they get there, grinning from ear to ear. They jump inside, and both scramble to get towels out of their bags to wrap themselves in.

“I’m glad you remembered how to have fun, Quinn,” Britt grins, and leans over the center console to kiss her.

It’s short but sweet, and Britt starts the car right after, still grinning. Quinn doesn’t attach any real meaning to it (because it’s Brittany, and sometimes Brittany just kisses people), but a part of her tucks it away, a warm reminder to steel her against when her life becomes cold again.


	10. #10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt, Santana; PG-13 for language

They’re in middle school, well before both Santana Lopez’ and Matthew Rutherford’s lives will be turned upside down. Right now, the word “lesbian” is an insult Santana tosses without any real meaning behind it and Wentworth’s is just a toffee, and things are good.

Matt’s already a football player, but Santana isn’t a cheerleader yet because their middle school doesn’t have an official cheerleading squad, just some dance team that Britt is of course on but Santana is too cool for.

Even at this age, though, Santana is acutely aware of popularity and how to get it, and she thinks it’s pretty convenient that her male best friend is a football player, because everyone knows that hanging out with football players is how you get popular. (Later, “hanging out” will become “fucking”, but right now it’s not, and it never will be with Matt, because 15 year-old Santana will know somewhere deep within her that sleeping with Matt would fuck up their friendship and she’ll instead go for Puck, a boy she couldn’t care less about at the time).

At the end of practice, Matt jogs toward her in his #10 jersey, grinning. When he gets to her, he leans in for a hug, but Santana decides to try something new, and leans up on her toes to kiss him hello.

It doesn’t feel right, and Matt looks both confused and a little uncomfortable. Santana smiles and tries to act like it never happened, and Matt is all too happy to play along.

(Later, Santana will look back on that day and realize that it was the day she should have started getting a clue about her sexuality).


	11. gardenia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one-sided Faberry, Fuinn; G

Of course she knew what it meant. She had put in an hour of internet research (and even though it was only an hour, she felt it was adequate because the second she had seen the meaning behind it, she had known) and more than that amount was spent debating between that and something less… well, accurate.

In the end, honesty had won out (and she had spent more than one night staring at the ceiling wondering if it was really honesty if it was indirect, subtle honesty) and she had told Finn to get the gardenia for Quinn’s corsage.

The reasons she’d given him were all the reasons except the large one (the irony of lying by omission in an effort to be honest didn’t escape her), but she didn’t think he would really understand her real reason even if she told him. Finn had his moments of being a spectacular human being, but none of them involved a great deal of… savvy. He probably would have laughed, assuming she was joking without a single thought to the contrary.

Quinn, though, Quinn she had expected better from.

Quinn was smart; she was taking all the same Honors courses Rachel was and aceing them all as far as Rachel could tell, and she was usually very good about being able to read people. Rachel had expected her to recognize the gardenia’s meaning, or at the very least recognize that there was no way Finn could have come up with the idea completely by himself.

What she didn’t expect, however, was Quinn’s incredible ability to pass over everything that didn’t mesh with the life her WASP parents wanted for her, and Rachel watched, heart sinking, as Quinn accepted the corsage with a smile and leaned up to kiss Finn, her face lighting up in a way Rachel had never seen.


	12. in a good mood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puckleberry; PG-13 for language

Puck had already been in the choir room for like an hour, jamming the fuck out on his guitar and one of the mics that were always in the room, working out one of the new songs his band had a hard-on for.

When he looked up from finishing the lyrics to the first verse, Rachel was standing there, watching him with a small smile. He grinned, and waved her over.

“You seem in a good mood, Noah,” she commented, walking forward but staying just out of his reach.

“‘Course I’m in a good mood,” he snorted, taking his guitar off and setting it down on a stand. “My band just got our first gig ever, and my hot girlfriend is totally gonna come watch us play. Right?”

Rachel smiled and moved to sit down on one of the chairs scattered about. “Of course I will.”

He smirked, and stepped out from behind the mic, standing in front of her. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow down at her. “So, like, we should totally celebrate by doing it on the piano.”

Rachel laughed and slapped at his arm, but when she pulled him down to kiss her, he figured he had about a 40-60 chance of getting her up on the piano.

(He didn’t get her on the piano then, but totally nailed her after the gig in the band’s van. Just as good, he figured.)


	13. excessive chain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puckurt; PG-13 for language

Puck sits in his truck for a good five minutes trying to figure out what he’s supposed to do. He promised Kurt he would stop fighting, but now he’s got this black eye, and if he didn’t know Kurt would be more pissed about Puck trying not to tell him than if he just finds out right away, he would totally send him a text with some bullshit excuse- whatever. He’s gonna be a man about this.

He throws the truck door open and sulks into Kurt’s dad’s shop, keeping his head down even though he knows it isn’t going to help. He manages to get by Burt with just a mumbled, “hey,” and heads toward the back, where Kurt is probably changing out of his overalls and taking way too long getting grease off his hands.

Kurt is struggling with a massive amount of chain link, trying to loop it up and over a hanging hook and Puck dashes up immediately to help him shoulder it. He usually lets Kurt gets his own shit cos he doesn’t wanna like, step on his dick about stuff like that, but he’s pretty sure even he couldn’t lift this shit by himself so whatever.

“Thanks,” Kurt smiles when they’ve got it covered, and leans it to kiss Puck. Before they get too close, he sees Puck’s eye, and pulls back with a gasp. “What- what happened?”

Puck shoves his hands in his pockets and mutters something under his breath that might be an answer, staring down at the dirty floor.

“Noah,” Kurt says firmly, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his hip to the side.

Puck knows he’s in trouble, because Kurt doesn’t ever call him Noah, and he sighs, mumbling, “I got in a fight.”

Kurt sighs in disappointment and turns away toward the back office. Puck grabs his arm, making sure his grip stays loose so Kurt knows he can walk away if he really wants to.

“Look,” Puck tries, pulling his eyes off of the floor, “I didn’t think I’d ever like dick,” Kurt clucks when he swears but doesn’t interrupt, “and I don’t really think I do like dick that isn’t yours, but I like _you_ , okay?” Puck’s eyes flick down to the crotch of Kurt’s jeans, and he drags them back up to Kurt’s eyes, because he’s trying really fucking hard to not just whip out his fuck-me voice when shit gets rough, “and I wouldn’t let someone talk shit about my woman, so when Azimio said something about you, I popped him one.”

Kurt’s eyes search his, and Puck forces himself to keep looking, even though he’s starting to get seriously uncomfortable with this silent eye contact shit. “That was very chivalrous of you, Puck,” Kurt says finally, and Puck knows he’s out of the doghouse, but if he grins or acts like this is a joke, he’ll be back in, so he keeps his serious face on. “but next time, try not to do anything that could get you arrested.”

Kurt leans up to kiss him, and when he pulls back, Puck grins. Their serious moment is over, and they walk to the back office together, Puck throwing an arm over Kurt’s shoulder. “So, you get hot for that chivalrous shit, right?”

“That remains to be seen,” Kurt comments coyly, and Puck knows he’s totally getting laid for laying Azimio out.


	14. radio-cassette player

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naomily; R for drug use

they dig out an old tape player her mum bought ages ago.

next to it is a bag full of tapes without any proper labels. they all read things like, “josephine’s workout jam!!!” and none of them give any real clue to what they’ve got on them. so, they stick them in the tape player one by one.

they lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. the spliff gets lit almost as soon as they’re down there, smoke drifting up to stain the living room walls. they try to make shapes with the smoke they exhale, and giggle at one another when they fail.

they lay like that for _hoursdaysweeks_ , only getting up to change the tape when it plays something really wanky. naomi glances over every so often, her mind recording freeze-frame memories of emily’s smile, her giggle, the glint of her nail polish when she rolls another joint.

“blowbacks?” naomi offers hopefully. emily sits up with a wicked grin (she’s oh so wicked, naomi’s emily), and motions naomi to sit up with her.

they do it, and then they do _it_.

then they’re laid out on the floor in their birthday suits, facing each other. emily smiles, pushes naomi’s hair back from her face.

“if you wanted to kiss me, you could have just said so,” emily teases.

“fine, then,” naomi says mock-seriously, “I want to kiss you.”

“then do it,” emily wrinkles up her nose, sticking her tongue out.

naomi kisses her right on the tongue, and they both giggle.

they stay down there until the tape runs out and the light fades from the window, giggling and kissing and denying the rest of the world exists.


	15. perfect blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cook/Panda; R for drug use and sex

Cook knows he shouldn’t have.

Fucking Panda was always going to be on that list, the one labelled, “shit other people don’t want me to do”, but he knew in the first couple minutes that it should be on that other, really fucking short list, the one labelled, “shit even Cook won’t do”.

He’ll do a lot to get his cock wet, but playing Twister for an hour is above and beyond even for him. He keeps telling himself that he’s just doing it because every other girl at the party is passed out (and fucking girls who can’t say yes is on the really fucking short list and always has been. James Cook is not a fucking rapist, no matter what other labels he’s picked up), but that’s not it at all.

There’s something innocent about Panda, something that keeps him taking smaller puffs off the spliff than he normally would, something that keeps him spinning the game board long after he would have given up on any other piece of tail.

Panda is so fucking happy to have him there, have someone playing this game with her, and Cook just lets himself play with her, for a while. He’s not even really thinking about them being all over each other during the game, even though he would have used the shit out of it with any other girl.

Even so, it’s not long before he talks her out of her clothes, not that it takes much talking. He just offers, and while he’s spent a long fucking time trying to talk other birds out of their knickers, Panda just leans forward, and somehow that makes him feel dirtier than all the other times he’s fucked girls with blokes.

He’s not really an oral person, but with Panda he keeps kissing, keeps dragging his lips and tongue across her skin. She tastes clean, with a faint taste of sweat from them playing the game, and then there’s her own taste underneath, and he keeps taking more and more of it.

Their clothes come off, and Cook has always been one to appreciate all shapes and sizes, so he shouldn’t be so fucking surprised when it turns out Panda’s body is well mint. Girls like Panda get passed over when they hang out with the Effys and the Katies, but Panda’s got a flat stomach and tits just the size he likes, and she reacts to fucking _everything_ he does.

He keeps kissing her all the way through, and right before he comes, she gasps, “Cook,” and he looks down at her.

Fucked if he knows what color they usually are, but when he looks, her eyes are a clear, innocent blue. She bites into her lip so hard she flinches, and it’s over.

Cook gets the fuck out after that, and he doesn’t think about it much. It’s not like he doesn’t end up fucking Effy and Katie too, and he even gets Naomi’s tongue in his mouth, so really, it’s not a big fucking deal. It’s not like he and Thomas were mates, not that he would care if they were, and he fucked Eff right out from under Freds, so fuck that anyway.

But on the nights he sleeps alone, restless and throwing off all his sheets, he remembers all the shit he’s done wrong, and the background is always perfect blue.


	16. invincible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brittana, PG-13 for language. Viewpoint swap of kiss #1 "look over here".

Brittany isn’t usually a daredevil.

She wouldn’t even call what’s she’s doing being a daredevil, not really. Daredevils don’t know that what they’re doing will turn out okay, and Brittany does, because she knows her body well enough to know she has more than enough strength to do this.

So when she sneaks into the seat in front of Santana, lifts up the window, and wriggles her body so she’s hanging out of the bus, it’s not really being a daredevil.

Santana freaks out, of course, but below that she knows that Brittany doesn’t take crazy chances. They both know Brittany is strong, and Santana is really just telling her to get back in the bus out of reflex.

“Kiss me first,” Brittany teases, dodging Santana’s hands when she tries to pull Britt back in the bus.

Santana sputters, but Brittany insists, and she eventually gets her kiss. Santana is gentle even though she’s worried, and Brittany obligingly climbs back into the bus.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” Brittany says with a mock-solemn face.

“You were hanging out of a fucking bus,” Santana says flatly.

“And now I’m not,” Brittany soothes, reaching for Santana’s hand.

Santana grumbles, but when Brittany gently turns her head, she accepts Britt’s lips on hers. They kiss and kiss, and the tension drains out of Santana enough for her to put a hand on the small of Brittany’s back.

They spend the rest of the bus ride kissing in the back, and Brittany knows she’s forgiven.


	17. kilohertz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yukari/Mitsuru, G

It’s not exactly her fault that she tunes out when Mitsuru starts talking about electronics. For all that Mitsuru is weirdly good with anything and everything that needs electricity to run, Yukari is fine with just being able to turn her laptop on and off.

She knows a lot more than she did (hard not to, when before she didn't know anything), but when Mitsuru starts talking about frequency and current and wires, it makes her eyes cross.

So she doesn’t really think she can be blamed for using the best way she knows how to get Mitsuru to change the subject. It’s not like Mitsuru minds being kissed - or at least, she hasn’t minded the other twenty or so times Yukari has done it - and Yukari doesn’t have to pretend later that she understood what Mitsuru was saying. Really, it’s win-win.

It’s only later she thinks that maybe, Mitsuru talks about electronics when she wants Yukari to kiss her, since she never seems to expect Yukari to remember what she was talking about. She tries not to think about that one so much, because ’kilohertz’ is like the least sexy word on the planet, and she’d really rather not associate it with making out.

Still, it’s worth the pun (and the blush on Mitsuru’s face), to say she feels a jolt when they kiss.


	18. a~n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuuka/Natsuki, G

If you had asked Fuuka Yamagishi at the beginning of her junior year about romance, you would have gotten a shy smile and a blush, but not an answer. If you were a Persona-user, you would have gotten a short, vague answer along the lines of “well, after we make the Dark Hour stop…”.

Under no circumstances would you have gotten her real thoughts, which were that true love was for other people. She wished for it, hoped for it, envied it, but she didn’t really believe it was possible for her. Fuuka knew she was a supporting character, the one that might be thrown together with another supporting character, but was more likely to be comfortably asexual for the entire book.

She thought, at one time, that she was okay with that.

Then she met Natsuki.

That wasn’t true love either, not at first. There was… some stuff said that Natsuki didn’t really mean, and then Fuuka had accidentally summoned her to Tartarus, but then they had started fresh.

Now, as Fuuka watched Natsuki grin at her over a cup of coffee, it was like the harsh-words and rescue from Tartarus had never happened. They were just two people on a date in a cafe. Fuuka was trying not to blush at Natsuki’s trying to make her blush, the coffee was delicious, and the weather was only barely cold enough for a jacket.

“I look really hot tonight, a~n?” Natsuki deadpanned down at Fuuka as they left, grabbing her arm and looping it through her own.

Fuuka laughed and leaned against Natsuki, soaking in her warmth. She let Natsuki lead her to that little alleyway just under the karaoke place, giggling when Natsuki twirled her and pulled her close.

“As your hot date, I think I deserve a kiss.” Natsuki smirked, leaning down.

“If you say so, Natsuki-chan,” Fuuka smiled, tilting her head upward.

Natsuki brushed her lips against Fuuka’s, and she smiled into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Natsuki’s neck.

If you had asked Fuuka Yamagishi right then about romance, she still wouldn’t say anything, but her blush and smile would be happy instead of shy, which she would figure to be all the answer you need.


	19. red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shinji/Mitsuru, R for (canonical) character death and language

If he wanted to think about it, he would have thought that they shouldn’t have. It’s a good thing that he didn’t want to think about it, not after watching Mitsuru watch Takeba watch Iori fall apart over his dead girlfriend.

And isn’t that some of the most fucked up shit? Iori’ll get over Chidori - they were only together for like a month; Shinji’s pretty sure they didn’t even fuck - and he wouldn’t be surprised if Takeba swung both ways. So it’d be Takeba between Mitsuru and Iori, and Takeba’s a heart-breaker; he saw it the first time they met, and every time in-between that she talked to Iori or Mitsuru. Mitsuru isn’t the jealous type, but being fucked around would bring it out in her. That shit isn’t even considering that their ‘leader’, Arisato, had been looking at Shinji, and she’s got these eyes that promised to wear him down, that said he’d actually care about her before the end.

So, the last time he bothered to think about it, he figured he could take care of a whole lot of drama by just taking him and Mitsuru out of it completely. He didn’t try to _seduce_ her or any dramatic shit like that - and she was too smart for it anyway, but then, he thought she was too smart to be hung up on some girl who can’t make up her damn mind - but he stood a little closer than he used to, started meeting her eyes instead of letting them slide away.

She picked up on it like he figured she would, invited him back to her room with a look he was pretty sure nobody else picked up on, and a brush of her fingers against his shoulder that he was pretty sure everybody else picked up on. He could really have cared less; it wasn’t like he’d be around long enough to deal with them being pissy about it if they were gonna flip their shit.

Now, with a bullet in his gut and a crying kid in the background, he thinks maybe he fucked up. Maybe he should have left Mitsuru to figure out her shit with Takeba (or find somebody else), instead of being a selfish bastard like he did.

She’s kneeling over him now, and all he can see is red.

Red’s always been her color, always been one he thought of when he thought of her. Wine red like her eyes, blood red on the sheets after that first time, fire red in her hair, cherry red on her nails. She leans down to kiss him - their first kiss; kissing while they were in bed would have said they were doing something more than fucking - and her lips come away red with the blood he’s been coughing up.

“Hey,” he grunts, seeing her tears. “We talked about this, y’know.” He coughs again, realizes he can’t feel the pain at all and doesn’t care. “Those pills were gonna do it if that asshole hadn’t.”

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t acknowledge it, just reaches down to touch his cheek with the tips of her fingers.

“It was good,” he says suddenly. He needs her to know, needs to make this right at least a little. “Between us. Always good. So don’t go thinking I was just there to-to-” He coughs once more. He’s fading fast, and he’s still seeing red, but he has one more thing to say, if only he could talk.

There’s fighting in the background, screaming and Evokers firing and feet running, and he’s always heard it called a fade to black but all he can see is red, red, re-


	20. the road home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minato/Yukari, Yukari/Mitsuru, SEES; canonical character death

He never told her.

At first, it always seemed like they had more time, like he could tell her later. They were going to save the world together; that was an unbreakable bond, wasn't it? It wasn't like they were going to fix the Dark Hour and then never speak to each other again.

He could wait until they had all settled down in their jobs and houses and significant others, and they could joke about it.

"I was in love with you, back then," he'd say.

"I know," she'd say back.

Because she wasn't meant for him, and he was... not exactly okay with that, but he had accepted it a while ago. He knew why - he always knew things he wasn't supposed to - and it was good enough. She'd be taken care of, and he'd melted into that stage of loving someone where you just want them to be happy.

Still, he'd wanted her to know, sometime before he died, and now he was in this limbo-place that he wasn't sure was life or death or something different.

Time went on and on - or maybe stopped completely, or worked in fits and starts - where he was. It was worse than Tartarus and the Dark Hour, where minutes stretched into as many battles as his body could handle and compressed into heartbeats. He fought, and kept the Seal intact, and sometimes he thought he slept but he wasn't sure.

Through it all, he had that one overriding wish- to tell her he was in love with her. It was his only regret, the one thing stopping him from working on the Seal with his whole heart. Maybe it was a selfish regret, maybe he should have had others, but he could only be what he was, and he was heartsick.

Then- it came. He didn't know what it was or how it came to be, but it was a chance, one that told him in no uncertain terms that he could take it without worrying about the Seal. He'd be weak, and would have to come back soon, it said, but he could go back to the world, back to her.

He took it.

It didn't even bear mentioning, really. How could he not? He'd been promised a minder for the Seal, and he had this opportunity to take care of his biggest regret.

So he took it, and he stumbled out into the world, into Aigis' arms. He didn't know where he was - couldn't focus, couldn't see, couldn't process what was going on - but he knew he kept telling her, "get me to her," and Aigis knew who he meant because Aigis, too, knew things she wasn't supposed to.

Then they were at the school, and he could feel SEES - his friends, his comrades - getting closer, and he could breathe again. He couldn't move besides a turn of the head, but he knew where he was, knew they were there- and oh, there she was.

She was just like he remembered: worry etched into her face, heart choker at her neck, a few flyaways from her caramel-colored hair waving in the slight breeze. There was Junpei behind her, Mitsuru at her side, Akihiko running up from across campus. Koromaru and Ken weren't there, but he hadn't expected them to be. It was okay; they would have been there if they could.

She knelt next to him. She said something - they all said something or another - but he couldn't hear it. It didn't matter anyway. She was there, and she'd threaded her fingers through his when he managed to lift his hand.

"I love you," he said, and he didn't care that SEES went silent, or that Mitsuru's hand on Yukari's shoulder tensed.

"I know," she said back, tears falling onto their joined hands.

She looked over her shoulder at Mitsuru, and an understanding passed between them. Mitsuru nodded, and lifted her hand.

Yukari's other hand descended, and brushed a piece of hair away from his face. "Minato," she whispered, and yobisute had never felt this good. Akihiko and Junpei looked away, but Yukari looked down at him, and Mitsuru looked down at her, and they both had a soft, gentle smile.

She leaned down and kissed him, once, lightly. He smiled into it, letting go.

He felt himself start to fade. He kept his eyes open as long as he could, long enough to see Yukari stand and lean back into Mitsuru's arms, to see Mitsuru hold her despite being in front of the school. Akihiko gave him a solemn nod, Junpei was full-out crying and unashamed, and just before he fell back into that nullspace, he heard Koro's bark and felt Aigis kiss his forehead.

Then, it was just him and the Seal, without the weight of regret.


	21. extortion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takaya/Chidori, R for sexual content, trigger warnings: bloodplay, dubious consent, Chidori and Takaya being Chidori and Takaya. Takes place in a world where Chidori and Junpei have swapped places: Chidori as a SEES member and Junpei as the third member of Strega. Female Protagonist.

“Come now, Chidori, you wouldn’t want your precious leader to get hurt, would you?” Takaya trailed one long, pale finger down her cheek.

Chidori forced her jaw to relax. She wasn’t in danger, because danger was for people who cared what happened to them. She wasn’t frightened, because fear concerned those who knew not what came next. Yet, she was in a certain amount of… _peril_ to her physical being. It wouldn’t be the first time Takaya hit her, and it would not be the last.

“I don’t care,” Chidori said. It was a lie, but then, Takaya never knew the truth of her and never would. He was unable to understand, because for all that Takaya spoke of ending existence and suffering, he feared it and always had.

“Are we back to that?” Takaya’s touch lingered just away from her lips, tracing the shape without actually touching them. “I’ve seen you together quite a bit, Chidori. I know you hold her close to you.”

“You don’t know anything,” Chidori flared, swatting his hand away.

Takaya chuckled. “Your temper always was your key.”

Chidori didn’t respond. She knew she would give in, would give him what he wanted, but she was going to make it as unpleasant for him as possible.

“So, what do you say? A life for a service?” Takaya settled himself onto her lap, his thighs clenched tight around hers. He even threw his hands around her neck, leaning into her ear in a grotesque parody of seduction. “It won’t be that bad. I’m only rough with Jin.”

“I don’t need to hear about your gay sex life,” Chidori snapped. She made her voice as harsh as she knew, but she didn’t force him off. This was inevitable, and pushing him too far would only make it painful for her.

“Ah, but I want you to. I want you to know that the part of me that has been inside him will also be inside you…” Takaya bit into her lip, making it bleed. Chidori growled, but didn’t stop him when he started to suck on it, making small moans and gasps as he licked away more and more of her blood.

And when he reached for the fastenings of her dress, she let him, and more besides. She said not a word, made not a noise, and left as soon as it was done and she was dressed and he was smirking at her from the bed, sprawled languid and naked.

(She didn’t do it because she cared about _her_. She did it because it was inevitable, because fate demanded it. Caring was… beneath her.)


End file.
